


distorted shadows

by Areiton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Character Study, Established Relationship, It's super angsty fluff ok, Lingerie, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, that's it's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:00:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He’s crying, and only realizes it when he sees the tears staining the ice blue tie, and his breath hitches, a sob caught in his throat, panic hot in his gut.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	distorted shadows

In the end it’s not HYDRA or an angry Tony Stark or the US government putting him on trial that breaks Bucky Barnes. 

When he breaks, it’s all at once, a glass shattered into a thousand pieces, crumpled on the familiar floor of their bedroom. 

He clutches silk in his hand, crumpled and ruining it, he thinks and he can hear Steve a few feet away in the shower, can smell the ridiculously expensive body wash Steve came home with--the body wash he picked for Bucky but likes to use because, he says, it smells like Buck. 

He delivered that little pronouncement with a quick kiss and small smirk and vanished out of the apartment, leaving Bucky shell-shocked and hot all over. 

He does that a lot. 

Bucky curls into himself, the rug soft under his knees, and the scent of oranges and sandalwood bright in the humid air. 

He’s crying, and only realizes it when he sees the tears staining the ice blue tie, and his breath hitches, a sob caught in his throat, panic hot in his gut. 

Shame and guilt roil in his belly and he scrubs at the silk frantically, shivering and whimpering and--

“Buck?” 

Steve’s voice is small, scared, and god, god, Bucky made him sound  _ small _ . 

He blinks tears out of his eyes and stares up up up, the small mountain of a man that he still struggles to believe is real. Steve is staring at him, a towel around his waist and water droplets clinging to his shoulders, skin pink with heat and worry in his pretty eyes. 

“I ruined it,” he croaks out, holding the tie up like an offering. “I ruined everything,” he blurts out, and sobs. 

He kneels there, a crumpled wreck, tear stained and tousled hair and pale white skin and scarlet lace at his hips, and he  _ breaks.  _

“Stevie,” he chokes, “I  _ ruined _ it.” 

Steve makes a low noise, almost hurt and that, that stings, burrows under his skin and digs claws in, a reminder of how he’s breaking everything. 

A reminder of how he’s hurting Stevie, his pretty little Stevie who is nothing like the boy he remembers.

He  _ does _ remember, is the truth. Remembers Steve, tiny and fragile and unbreakable, curled in his bed. Remembers bringing home oranges just to see the way Steve would light up, the pencils wrapped in paper and the smudges of lead under his eyes. Remembers Steve in his shirt, pale skin on display, skinny hips in his hands as Steve’s head tipped back and his face washed in pleasure as Bucky fucked up into his tight heat. 

He remembers wrapping around him when he was sick, holding him close when he was cold, feeding him by hand when he was hungry, and using every spare penny to spoil him the way that Steve  _ deserved.  _

And then the world changed, and they changed, and Stevie--his sweet little Stevie wrapped in a body too big and too beautiful and still  _ him-- _ found him and brought him home, out of the shadows. 

He crouches in their bedroom, in their apartment, surrounded by the things that Steve has given him, wrapped up in the scent that Steve has chosen for him, and it’s not right, it’s not  _ them _ and he hates himself, for loving it so much. 

“Supposed to take care of you,” he whispers, heartbroken. “That’s all I was ever good for, Stevie.” 

Warm arms wrap around him, hard as steel, soft as silk, and hold him against a chest that’s different, that’s broad and sturdy and strong. 

His heartbeat under Bucky’s ear is the same, though. “I can’t take care of you anymore,” Bucky whispers, desolate. 

“You took such good care of me, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, lips hot against his ear. “It’s my turn, now.”

“But--”

“I like it,” Steve says, simply. “I like being the reason you smile, knowing that you’re safe in the place I’ve made for us, that your fed and warm and happy. Taking care of you  _ is  _ taking care of me.” 

Bucky stares at him, tears slick on his cheeks, and shakes, and Steve leans down, kisses him gently, licks his tears away and murmurs, “You couldn’t ruin us if you tried, darling.”   
He’s broken, a shattered wreck, a man apart from the boy he was all those lifetimes ago. But here, in Steve’s bed and bedroom and apartment, the scent of oranges and sandalwood in the humid air, wearing his shirt open and his hands low on Bucky’s hips, with his head tipped back in pleasure, Steve’s cock thick and hard in him, he thinks--he thinks maybe he can still see shadow cast images, distorted and strange, of who they were. 


End file.
